


Forged in Fire

by Lacrow



Category: SPY x FAMILY (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Magic, Swearing, Swords & Sorcery, Violence, ongoing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26859475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacrow/pseuds/Lacrow
Summary: It's been ten years since the Iron Curtain fell from the heavens. Separated by miles of divine iron, the two kingdoms tolerate one another with passive apathy. Life is peaceful...for now. However, the flames of war are not so easily smothered. As an orphaned boy makes a fateful mistake one night, he's soon thrust into the newly kindled ashes of a strife over a decade in the making. Old names become spoken again, and a legend returns for wholly selfish reasons.Will the Iron Curtain hold, or will it rust and fade away like promises made in the past?
Relationships: Damian Desmond/Anya Forger, Loid Forger | Twilight/Yor Briar Forger | Thorn Princess
Comments: 40
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

The snapping of twigs were all that could be heard in the still of the forest, save for the desperate pants of a young man trying his damnedest to escape execution.

Pointed jeers cut through the thick night as lanterns bobbed in total darkness, their dim flames being the only sources of light for miles around. The actual number of those carrying them were indiscernible at the moment, though it hardly mattered to the one they chased; his only concern was to run as fast and far away as he could. He made no attempt to cover his tracks, as there would ultimately be no point in doing so. True, his pursuers could barely see any father than he could, but they had something else up their sleeves. An ace-in-the-hole of sorts, guaranteed to find him.

Without warning, still-night gave way to baying howls.

Mongrel hounds had suddenly joined the hunt.

The young man sucked in air. He'd been fine up until that point. He knew he could outrun the bandits, especially since he'd gotten a good head start on them to begin with. The dogs, though...their presence would surely spell his doom. With what little breath he had, he cursed himself under his breath for ever going through with that stupid plan of his in the first place. Why not thieve from thieves? It's not like they could report it, and any coin lifted from such delinquents would surely be spent better in the hands on a more honest person such as himself.

He now knew why not to steal from bandits.

Desperately, he killed the light of the small lantern on his hip. His only option was to slip into darkness, but that ended up becoming just as much a detriment to him as it was a boon. Still running as fast as he could, the young man was now at the mercy of the woad; he could see no more than a few inches in front of him, and with every step came something else to trip over. Once or twice he nearly stumbled over a rock. The one time his foot finally did catch something, it ended up being a gnarled tree root. His boot became entangled in it. He fell over and immediately felt a sharp pain shoot up his leg. It was disorienting. He'd never felt such agony so quickly before, but there was no time to dwell on it. He covered his mouth to muffle the scream that fought its way past his lips. He looked back behind him.

More lamps. Closer this time. Again, accompanied by howls.

The voices of the bandits whose gold he lifted were starting to get louder. He had no time to nurse his injury. In-between their heartfelt promises to feed him his own balls when they finally caught him, the young man ripped his leg free from his boot; it belonged to the tree now. He couldn't keep from screaming, not entirely, but kept quiet enough to where it was no louder than the other, more boisterous shouts of his pursuers. Biting through the pain, he picked himself up and tried his best to run. The most he could manage was an awkward shuffle, made all the slower by the forest floor.

There was a clearing up ahead. He could tell as much by the soft glow of fireflies, a large swarm of them at that. If he could maybe make it out before the bandits got close enough, they might spend their time searching the woods for him instead. Besides, only an idiot would think to hide in plain sight like that; all the more reason why he was banking everything he had on doing just that. It's not like he had much of a choice, anyway. He couldn't run anymore, and the dogs were still hot on his trail. He just prayed whatever wildlife was out and about at the moment would muddle his scent.

The young man shuffled as fast as he could until soon the trees were behind him. Guided by the light of hundreds of fireflies, he had no real way of knowing just what was around him other than what lay directly ahead. A large rock and...a glow? More fireflies, perhaps? He stopped for a moment and held his breath, both to focus on identifying the source of the light and also to figure out where the bandits were. The former he had no idea, while the latter he unfortunately knew all too well. There came a whistle. The young man froze. He spun around, and at the edge of the woad he saw lamplight.

Bobbing on the hips of at least a half dozen men, orange lit the forest. At their side came hungry growls; as to how many mouths they belonged to, the young man couldn't say.

"There's the whoreson!" one of the bandits seethed.

Another whistle from among them. "Go earn your scraps, you fucking mutts!"

The young man's eyes grew wide as the blood-chilling call of several dogs rang throughout the clearing. He could only vaguely see their silhouettes as they disappeared into the tall grass. Immediately he spun back around and tried with everything he had to start running again, but his leg would not oblige. It was stiff, and every step was a new wrack of pain. It came as no surprise to him when all of a sudden he buckled under his own weight and fell to the ground. He landed on his stomach, left facing away from the quickly approaching hounds.

He caught a face full of dirt, and immediately his mind reeled; this was his legacy. Everything that had ever happened to him up until that point was just a testament to how pathetic he was. He couldn't do anything right. He couldn't live up to the expectations of others and was promptly disposed of. He couldn't make it on his own and quickly fell into a life of thieving. He couldn't see the one good thing to happen to him in his life until it was too late, and failed to save her. And now, after all of his failures, he couldn't even will himself up to making a proper fucking getaway after doing something stupid in the name of keeping a promise. Just a little gold to get him where he needed to go. On the road, back towards her...but so much for all of that. Where had that all gotten him, exactly?

Oh, right. He was dog food.

No, lower than that; utter garbage.

His head fell to the ground once more, and he had no strength to lift it back up. He accepted his fate begrudgingly, and wholly expected to feel the thrashing fangs of canines as they sunk into him like the lackluster meat he was. The young man had given up entirely; so much so that he failed to notice the glow from before had gotten bigger since last gazing upon it. Having failed to discern its true nature, it was understandable that he would have given up faith so easily. It wasn't until he felt it that the young man slowly pulled his head back up. Something warm against his cheek.

Hot, even. Actually... _blazing_ fucking hot.

He immediately rolled at the sight of it. Red flames caught the dry grass like oiled kindling. They quickly spread throughout the clearing and illuminated everything. More still, the dogs suddenly wanted nowhere near him. Growls turned to whimpers as fire licked at their paws, and the bandits just as quickly whistled for their beasts to return to their side. Meanwhile, the young man found himself in a similar situation. He scooted away as fast as he could, towards the one direction where the fire was thinnest. He kept his eyes on it and nothing else. His sole attention was on not getting burned, and he pushed back farther and farther until...he couldn't anymore. Not because he was tired though, or even because of his leg.

Instead, it was because he bumped into something solid. Heavy. Metallic.

Eyes wide once more, the young man looked behind him to find steel greaves pressed against him. He looked up slowly, and found the person they were attached to; a tall man, with blonde hair singed orange by the glow of the flames around them. Cool blue eyes drenched the young man with a feeling of ease. For some reason, he knew not to terror before this person. He wasn't an enemy...which was good, considering he bore a short-sword in one hand and a rondache shield in the other. Despite his greaves, the man wore no armor. Just gauntlets on his forearms.

"Follow my lead," the swordsman instructed. His voice was calm, despite the chaos surrounding them.

The young man couldn't help but nod his head, despite not knowing what on earth he was supposed to do. "...Got it."

The swordsman nodded back, and took his cue. He walked till he was at the edge of the fire and pointed his sword at the now-illuminated bandits. The young man could see them clearly now; there were seven of them, and they all gazed in horrified confusion at the scene before them. Moments ago they were hunting someone. Now...they had no idea what was going on. They all watched warily as the stranger with a sword pulled something out from behind him. A small vial of clear liquid. He loosed the cork and bathed his blade with it, although nothing seemed to happen.

"On behalf of Archduke Desmond, I thank you fine gentleman for leading me to my quarry!" the swordsman shouted out over the roar of the flames. "I'll see to it that the entire country side is informed of your exploits!"

...Desmond. The young man's blood ran cold at the sound of that name, despite the stifling heat surrounding him. Likewise, the bandits seemed thrown off at its mention. "The fuck you going on about!?"

"You see, this boy here is a traitor to Ostania and the crown," the swordsman motioned behind him. Playing his part, the young man feigned true horror. "I was beginning to think we'd never find him."

"...Is that right?" one of the bandits piped up. He crossed his arms, and his compatriots did the same. "A traitor to the Archduke? Such a fella must be sportin' a hefty bounty for all that trouble, then!"

"Indeed. His head alone is worth a thousand dalc. He's a menace to the public, and one I mean to deal with personally." The swordsman glanced behind him. The young man nodded again, albeit weakly.

"Eh!? So where's our cut, then!?" another of the bandits shouted this time. A chorus of anger soon erupted from the others. "We did all the work in finding 'em! And who're you anyway? Some pissboy with a tiny sword!"

There came a rabble of jeers and pointed remarks all aimed at the swordsman. Insults flew, though none found their mark. The man remained calm through it all, not even a hint of emotion showing through on his expression. The boy on the floor swallowed a lump in his throat at the sight; the bandits were placated for the moment, but he still had no idea how they were going to get out of this. The meadow was still on fire. The swordsman had arms, but no armor, and there was no way he could take all those men on by himself. Their backs were against the wall. They were trapped...

...So why then could he see a tiny smirk start to pull at the man's face?

The boy blinked. He watched in silence as the swordsman brought his arm around in front of him. Meanwhile, the bandits continued to let their hate fester. They slung more words, and their courage started to roil. Some reached for their knives, while others still their bows and arrows. The dogs had found their voice again as well, and were starting to growl despite the flaming tongues that lapped at the air in front of them. Cinders blew in the wind. Night became day. Both parties stood their ground and eyed one another from across the way; seven bandits and a handful of dogs vs...one man.

The swordsman lowered his arm and dipped his blade in the flames.

Immediately, cold steel burned bright crimson. He pulled it out and held it high in the air for his opponents to see; the fire lingered, and lapped at the air higher even than the inferno surrounding them. A sight to behold, and one that promptly silenced whatever fresh insults were being readied. Out from behind, the boy held his breath. He knew something wasn't quite right about all this. He knew the swordsman must have had something up his sleeve, but...watching him stand his ground and carry his own blade like a blazing beacon...even he had to admit it was an awesome sight to behold.

"My name is Loid Forger!" The meadow crackled as if bending to his will. "Unity Knight of Fire, and loyal servant to his highness Archduke Desmond!"

All became silent, save for embers. A long pause came from both the boy and the bandits; meanwhile, the man named Forger stood between them both. The fire on his blade started to move down towards the hilt, but he made no move to avoid it. His hand slowly started to kindle as well, and yet the swordsman offered not even so much as a twitch of discomfort. Truly the elements seemed at his command, and as the seconds ticked by all seven bandits looked to one another in muted uncertainty. They conversed, silently, before turning back to Loid.

The one out in front, the boldest one, sheathed his dagger. A crooked smirk cut across his face. "Aye then...one of the duke's boys."

"A right freak, if you ask me-!" a brash bandit started to shout, but was promptly silenced with a jab in the ribs by one of his compatriots.

"Cut it out, ya fucking ninny..." The warning was repeated in various words by several other bandits. "You want to be immolated? He's a Unity Knight."

"Elementalists, them. I seen one woman who could spout ice at people. Froze a poor bastard right in front of me a few months back. A right demon, that one!"

There was quick counsel amongst the would-be-killers. Despite not seeming the brightest nor sensible bunch in Ostania, it didn't take them long to come to the same conclusion; they were severely outmatched here. Even with numbers on their side, none of them could hold a candle to both the literal and metaphorical torch that a knight of Archduke Desmond held against them. Warily, they stared across the flames at the man named Loid Forger. Fire continued to spread down his arm. Again, he gave no hint of feeling anything. His blue eyes cut through the sea of red, and falling under his gaze was enough to send a chill down up their spines despite the heat. The boy on the floor waited with bated breath for something to give.

Eventually, he got his wish. One of the bandits in the back whistled, and he was promptly answered by muted barks. The dogs followed their master back into the woods, as they too were soon followed by a majority of the bandits. Without so much as another word, most of the group were swallowed by the inky blackness of the woad. Only the bold one out in front remained for a minute longer. He seemed smarter than the others, something the boy noted as he continued to stare at Loid. Something was turning in his head, but he couldn't quite place what.

"Never let it be said Keith and his band did nothing for the crown!" the bandit exclaimed. A weary smile turned his lips. "We may be devils and whoresons...but traitors we are not."

"I'll pass your message along to Lord Desmond," Loid countered. His eyes narrowed. "Assuming he hasn't already sent the knights to exterminate every bandit this side of Eastern Nieselberg."

There came a snort from the bandit. A self-piteous sort of gesture; he knew full well such a fate might await him and his men. Unable to do anything about it though, the bandit named Keith accepted the cards fate had dealt him in stride. He gave a mocking sort of bow to his adversary, and just as soon turned heel to leave both him and the boy by their lonesome. The inferno, as if somehow sensing the bandits' departure, seemed to wane almost instantly. It continued to crack and smolder, but it would go no farther than the meadow. It stopped at the trees.

Once it was just the two of them, the boy fell on his back to the floor. Sweat fell in buckets from the side of his brow; both from the hot air and the entire situation. Everything hit him all at once, and there were a million questions in the back of his throat all fighting to be the first one spoken aloud. What was all this? Who was this person? How were they still alive? And, maybe most importantly...what next? The boy let his head fall to the side, and from his spot watched weakly as Loid made his way towards him. The swordsman immediately dropped his blade and just as quickly pulled off his now-enflamed gauntlet. Metal pinged as it fell to the floor, followed by a thud as Loid collapsed on his backside tiredly next to the boy.

"Well then..." the man sighed as he shook his head. He looked up at the fire around them, then back down at the boy. He shrugged. "...Who's hungry?"

* * *

Wood snapped from the heat of a fire, only this time the source came not from a meadow, but a pot.

The young man listened to it intently. It was all he could do at the moment, aside from letting his toes warm by it. A bowl of stew steamed from his outstretched lap, and he stared down at its contents in contemplation. His eyes lingered for a while before looking up to survey the destruction all around him. The meadow was no more, and a few sparks still caught here and there from its remnants. All of these sights and sounds came to him as he let Loid's words sink in slowly. Meanwhile, his savior seemed not-at-all concerned with just how he looked to the boy at the moment. After all, he saved his life; did it really matter about the how or why? Apparently so, as Loid soon found out. Again, not that it very much concerned him at all.

"...So all of that right now," the boy mused aloud, almost incredulously. "Was complete bullshit?"

"Yeah." The response was quick and matter-of-fact. A smirk accompanied it, and the boy twitched. "That's the right of it."

"Unity Knight of Fire, huh?" The words tasted bitter on the boy's tongue. "Tell me, is there even such a Unity Knight in the first place?"

"I certainly hope not," Loid grumbled. He raised a spoonful of stew into his mouth and shrugged. "The last thing I need is another knight to worry about."

The boy paused. He looked to Loid, who at that point was busy focusing on his dinner. His comment made him ponder; why worry about a Unity Knight in the first place? They were the Archduke's lackeys. Powerful knights given domain over the elements by Lord Desmond himself. True they were an unsightly bunch most of the time, but ultimately they protected the country from threats both inside and out. A typical commoner wouldn't concern themselves with their presence, so why then was it a relief to Loid that there may be potentially one less out there in the world?

Brown eyes fell over to the lone, giant rock they sat next to; the only such boulder in the entirety of the meadow. Set up against it was something he hadn't seen previously, seeing as how everything had taken place next to the forest on the other side. The armor whose existence he'd previously mused over was very much there, propped up neatly as if to reveal every tiny detail. The design was unlike any he'd seen in Ostania. Elegant, yet practical. Squared pauldrons lined with the white fur of some unknown beast. A breastplate that seemed equal parts fitted and broad. Long, tight skirt to cover the codpiece. And the helmet...it most certainly wasn't Ostanian. Elongated protrusions on the side like the horned feathers of an owl. A long, vertical slit visor...

"That armor..." the boy murmured aloud, mesmerized at the sight of it. Loid looked up. "...It's from Westalis, isn't it?"

There was a moment of silence. Loid seemed to consider for a moment before answering. "That's right."

A shuddered breath came from the boy. He hesitated before continuing, "...A paladin's armor?"

"Blessed by Lady Sylvia herself," Loid nodded. He left it at that and continued eating.

The boy's heart stopped. His blood ran cold as he looked back at the armor and examined it more closely. The area they made camp in had not been spared by the flames; the two of them sat in burnt grass and weeds, and yet the armor, which had been here the whole time, sat on a bed of green grass completely untouched by fire. Such was the work of strong magic. Impossible.

Unity Knights pledged their allegiance to the Archduke and, by extension, Ostania.

Paladins, however, were soldiers of the country's mortal enemy; Lady Sylvia of Westalis.

This man made no attempt to hide it, either. He was a foreign invader, and a very dangerous one at that. Paladins were just as strong as Unity Knights, something evidently clear as he took a fistful of fire without even so much as batting an eye. The boy looked over at Loid's arm and found it just as charred as when he'd taken off his gauntlet earlier; it held the bowl in his lap while he ate with his other hand, and he gave no indication of it causing him pain despite it being very clear to the boy that that was most likely the case.

Suddenly, Loid's eyes shot up. He could feel the boy's stare, and immediately the latter froze. Something seemed to click in Loid's head, and at the same time he set his dinner aside and picked himself off the floor. He started to walk briskly over, and at that point the boy started to scramble backwards. Shit. Shit! _Shit!_ Loid was a paladim, and now that he knew his secret he was going to dispatch him!

The boy audibly flinched as Loid suddenly dropped to his knee beside him. "Ah, I forgot about your leg. I'm sorry."

Loid held his charred hand above the boy's injured leg. The latter watched, stunned, as a soft glow of white light started to emanate from the paladin's outstretched palm. Immediately, the lingering twinge of stinging nerves were soothed. The boy watched in awe as, at the same time, the burnt flesh on Loid's hand started to quickly mend. Open sores closed, and black became pink again. In almost no time at all, both men had their injuries healed. When it was done, Loid looked to his patient and offered him a mild smile.

"Better?" he asked.

The boy nodded. "...Who are you?"

"Just a passing hunter," the man replied simply before rising.

Loid returned to his bowl, leaving the boy there to ponder everything to himself. Nothing about any of this was adding up. An enemy of the state, of the crown, had just healed him using magic. A _paladin_. Someone who could have easily dispatched those bandits if he so chose, and yet...he hadn't. Instead, upon seeing the boy in trouble, he set the meadow ablaze with the embers of his campfire. He doused his sword in the strongest liquor Westalis had to offer (Loid's own words), and bluffed his way out of the situation without spilling a drop of blood in the process. He saved him; him, a lowly thief who openly admitted to stealing from bandits. Despite the choice words Loid had for him regarding his life choices, the man held no contempt for the boy. Again, adding another layer of confusion to the situation.

The boy deflated. He had nothing else to say other than to ask again. "Please, tell me who you really are."

"Loid Forger." Annoyance twinged the man's words this time. He looked up to find the boy looking pleadingly at him. Loid hesitated for a moment, then he muttered, "...otherwise known as Twilight."

"...Twilight," the boy repeated incredulously. His eyes grew bigger than they'd ever had before, and he stared in awe at his savior. "The legendary paladin? Hero of Westalis? Ender of the war...?"

"All fine accolades a decade ago, but nowadays I'm just a simple hunter," Loid faintly growled. He glanced at his previously burned hand and frowned. "Or at least I was until recently."

The boy stared, mouth agape, as a living legend sat across from him lost in thought. A shudder ran up his spine just looking upon him; Twilight of Wise, paladin to the god of order. Growing up in his...previous home, the young man had heard all the tales. The war had started just a year after his birth and had ended by the time he'd turned the tender age of six. Even now with him being sixteen and at the threshold of adulthood however, he couldn't help but to feel like a little kid again. Suddenly all the stories he'd heard growing up came rushing back to him. He may have been Ostania's sworn enemy, but even the common folk respected the man immensely.

Twilight, the greatest knight in neighboring Westalis.

Twilight, Lady Sylvia's personal attendant and leader of her army.

Twilight, who single-handedly brought down the Iron Curtain from the heavens.

With a grandiose plea to his god, the man achieved what was considered to be impossible at the time; end the four-year war between Westalis and Ostania. A mountain of iron fell from the sky and separated the two nations almost instantly. The final battle of the war ended with nary a casualty, though it came at the cost of a forever separated continent...or at least that's what most people assumed. Clearly that must not have been the case; how else could Twilight's presence be explained, then? When the curtain fell, he was on the Westalis side. How did he come to be in Ostania?

What changed? He asked the question aloud, and flinched when Twilight's head snapped up. The boy gulped before rephrasing his question. "Why are you here?"

Loid stroked his chin. He pondered for a moment before relenting. "I'm looking for my wife and daughter. It's a bit of a long story, actually."

"Your _family?_ " the boy became exasperated. Loid tilted his head. "I thought paladins never married? That you serve Lady Sylvia in mind, body, and soul?"

Twilight chuckled lightly and shrugged. "All the more reason why such accolades no longer apply to me. I haven't been a paladin since the end of the war. I'm retired."

"I see..." the boy squirmed slightly. "...So what makes you think your wife and daughter are in Ostania? The curtain is impenetrable and...well, actually, how did _you_ get here, anyway?"

"I placed the curtain, I can traverse it whenever I wish," Loid revealed. "My wife and daughter can't, though that hardly matters since they never lived in Westalis to begin with. They're both Ostanian."

"Wait, but that would mean...?" the boy's mind boggled as a knowing smile spread across the legendary paladin's face. "...You've been living in Ostania this whole time!?"

"The lengths we go to for the ones we love," Loid mused. A distant fondness filled his eyes. "Never thought I'd say those words aloud when I was your age, but...maybe someday you will, too."

Immediately, a somberness swept over the boy. His eyes grew wide at the implication; not because he disagreed with Loid, but rather the exact opposite. The shock over everything that had happened that night parted for a moment, and he could suddenly focus on something he'd forgotten in all the chaos. A face he hadn't seen in weeks. Emerald green, the color of which he'd gotten lost in almost immediately. A distant memory, yet one that he clung to desperately. The sole reason he'd done something so reckless as to steal from bandits in the first place.

Scrounge up money. Buy supplies. Ready for a long journey, and find her. The girl behind the emerald green eyes.

The only person he ever truly felt safe with, and whom he had failed to protect despite giving it his all.

His throat grew tight at the thought. He turned his head away to hide the obvious red that started to burn his eyes, and Twilight took notice. He said nothing though, and instead fiddled with the gauntlet he'd previously removed. Despite the fire, there was not a scratch on it. He inspected it before sliding it back on and flexing his fingers; still as good as the day it was blessed by Lady Sylvia.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" the boy choked a bit. He cleared his throat, trying his best not to sound whiny and weak.

Loid looked up and smirked. He shrugged. "It's not like the authorities would believe you if you snitched. You're a thief, and besides they'd think you'd lost your mind."

"Fair point," the boy grumbled. Truly his situation was bleak, though Twilight at least got some amusement out of it. The man pointed to him.

"Now, what's your story?" he inquired. "You seem too smart to be stealing from bandits, and you don't sound like a common thug. Why are you out here?"

"I'm looking for someone, myself..." The boy paused. Brown eyes met cool blue, and he eased enough to continue. "...A girl with emerald eyes, pink hair, and a smile that can light up all of Berlint."

A change. Almost immediately, cool blue turned frigid. The boy blinked; he noticed Loid's gaze turn the instant it happened. He had no idea what he'd just said that caused such a reaction, but knew right away that it didn't bode well for him. Loid, Twilight, visibly gaped. His whole body went limp, and yet there was a noticeable twitch in the man's fingers. He was bursting at the seams.

"...Tell me your name, boy." This wasn't a request; it was a calm command. "Now."

And just like that, things seemed to click in the young man's head. He didn't know the specifics, not truly, but understood that his answer had struck a nerve with Twilight. There was only one thing that could have elicited such a reaction, and he had a pretty good idea as to what. Still, that didn't make his request any easier to honor. His name...true, Twilight had shared his, but...

The boy sucked in air at Loid's icy stare. He'd hoped it wouldn't have to come to this, but ultimately knew there was no choice. "My name is Damian Desmond."

"...The Archduke's son?" Twilight's eyes widened. He stared, slack jawed, as the boy he saved hardened his resolve. There was no turning back now.

He knew what might happen upon revealing his identity, and to his credit things proceeded about as he'd envisioned. Before Damian knew it, there was a blade to his throat. He flinched, of course, but didn't devolve into a blubbering mess like most others would have done in his situation. He tilted his head up to avoid steel as it teased the knot of his throat and held his breath, lest any tiny thing set off a visibly disturbed Twilight. The pleasant smile Damian had come to expect from Loid was no longer there; only an empty stare of emotionless fury. He loomed over the boy.

"You just described my daughter," Twilight shook with restraint. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't cut you down right here and now!"

...One reason?

For the life of him, Damian couldn't think of a single thing. Morbidly, in his mind's eye, he smiled to himself; there wasn't a single reason for a wretch like him to continue living...save of course for the girl who'd entered his life in an instant and disappeared just as quickly. From the moment he was cast out of his father's life, Damian could rely only on himself. Thieving and larceny were how he survived for years. Taking things from others came second nature to him, likely since it wasn't too far off what dear old dad did to his subjects on a daily basis. Thieves and nobles were two sides of the same coin, after all.

A meager existence. An empty one. That is, until he met Anya. She put him in his place. Exactly _how_ still remained a mystery to him (he wasn't at all sure how she caught him so easily in the act of stealing someone's coin), but that was just one of the things he planned to ask her when he next saw her. It was that thought that made things click for Damian; he still had to see her again. He had to ask her how she did the things she did. How she could effortlessly read his mind as if he were an open book. How she could make him forget all about the Archduke and how he'd treated him. How she could somehow make herself the one thing that kept him hanging on through the darkest of times. That was his reason for not dying. Anya was still out here, somewhere, and he had to help her father find her.

"...Because I want to be your squire!" Damian shouted with all his conviction. His eyes twisted at Twilight. "I want to become stronger so I can protect Anya!"

The burnt meadow fell still. At the same time, the blade that floated dangerously close to Damian's throat jerked back slightly. He continued to stare intensely at Loid, and for once he spied a glint of uncertainty in the man's normally solid eyes. Damian waited. Loid remained silent. Then, after a few more moments of silence, the latter retracted his sword. Not entirely, but enough to where Damian could finally lower his head. Cold steel still teased his vision, though Damian paid it no mind. He just kept staring at his new would-be master. Twilight's face twisted at the sight.

"Of all the...!" Loid clutched his face with his free hand and growled heavily. His wasn't the reaction of a paladin, but rather an exasperated father. "Anya, just what the hell have you been up to!? _The Archduke's_ **_son!?_ "**

Damien blinked. He remained silent and simply let the man work through his frustrations. Loid shook his head and heaved. "You're too old to be a squire! Besides I don't need one, anyway!"

"Then your apprentice?" Damian shot back immediately. Loid narrowed his eyes, but Damiam kept going. "Cook! Attendant! I'll carry your things all up and down Ostania! Just please let me come with you-!"

"-I don't need _any_ of those things!" Loid barked, immediately silencing the boy. "Having another person will only slow me down, and I'll look suspicious hanging around you!"

"More suspicious than walking around in paladin armor!?" Damian countered. Loid flinched; admittedly a fair point. "I'd lay my head on the sword for your daughter! She's the only one who ever gave a damn about me!"

Again Loid's face twisted, though this time it came at the sight of Damian's expression. He looked into the eyes of a boy who reminded him very much of someone he knew a very long time ago, someone with exactly one thing left to lose and the conviction to protect said thing with everything they had. It was like looking at his younger self, and Loid was unnerved by just how much it got to him. Desperation painted the backdrop of Damian's stare, but it was his determination that ultimately made Loid rub his face tiredly. This was beyond stupid, but...maybe...

"...Please, sir..." Damian's voice came through at the worst possible time. Loid closed his eyes in an effort to tune him out, but to no avail. "...I love her."

Immediately Loid threw his head back and made a sound that Damian had never quite heard before. It was a really weird mix of pain, anger, exasperation, pity, tiredness, and about thirty other emotions all rolled into one. Twilight of Wise, legendary paladin of Westalis, was laid bare for Damian to see. At the moment, he bore no title other than Anya's father. There was a clear message in his eyes when he finally looked Damian square in his, and the boy didn't need psychic powers to read what he was saying; _don't say another goddamn word._

"From henceforth, you, Damian Desmond, son of Archduke Donovan Desmond, will be my squire..." Loid ground out, as if the words physically caused him pain.

Damian's jaw dropped. He went to say something, but immediately shut up; right, not another word. "...I am your master, and you are my shadow..."

"...With my sword I fell the darkness, and with my shield I provide bastion from the harshest storm. Follow me. Witness me, and take heart..."

"...By the grace of Lady Sylvia, your mind, body, and soul now belong to her. Your duty is to Westalis, until your chosen god takes you..."

Finally, Loid eased up a bit. He exhaled. "...In the name of my god, Wise, let the eye of the owl forever guide and protect you."

Damian shuddered as Loid suddenly brandished his sword. He held it straight out in front of him, not unlike how he'd done so in the fire previously. Despite minutes ago being afraid of the weapon, Damian now eyed the blade with pride. Eyes forward, he felt sharp steel lay gently on his shoulder. Then, Loid did the same to his other side. Once that was done, the man withdrew his sword and stared down at his newly ordained squire. Until the day he became a full paladin and chose a god to follow, Wise would be his patron deity; a one-eyed, all seeing owl of order.

"You are to address me as Ser, or Ser Forger," Loid informed him tiredly. "Under no circumstance are you to refer to me as Twilight. Understood?"

"Yes, ser!" Damian nodded stiffly. He looked up at his new master with a newly lit fire in his eyes, one that did not go unnoticed by Loid.

Despite everything leading up to that point and all the reservations he had about this whole arrangement, Loid nevertheless let a tiny smirk creak across his lips. Damian noticed right away, but knew better than to say anything. His expression remained resolved. His chest swelled with a strength that hadn't been there previously, and all he could think about was the promise he'd made to himself to see Anya again. He'd done a lot of things in the name of living up to that promise, but this was the first time he could honestly say he was proud of the choice he'd made.

To be squire to the legendary Twilight...and Anya's own father, no less...

...Wait a minute. It suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks; _Twilight was Anya's_ **_father_ ** _._ Damian's eyes became huge. That information was old at this point, but the weight of it was finally starting to sink in. The strongest paladin in the entire world...and he had a crush on his daughter!? What if he said the wrong thing!? What if he embarrassed himself in front of him and he ended up telling Anya not to bother with him!? Or even _worse_...what if Anya felt the same way about him? Would daddy Twilight be okay with that, or would he end up being on the market for a new squire...!?

"Now that that's all settled," Loid's voice interrupted Damian's thoughts. The boy shook himself out of it. "I think it's time for bed."

"W-what?" Damian blinked. He looked into the sky and found the moon's position; it couldn't have been later than eight o'clock. "Now?"

Loid nodded. "I've got a lot of questions for you, but honestly that can wait until morning. It's best we save our strength for tomorrow."

"But I'm not even tired!" Damian argued back. Even taking into account all the craziness of that night, he was still running strong on adrenaline.

"Let this be your first lesson, Damian," Loid replied simply. "On the battlefield, sleep is a rare opportunity. Never pass on the chance to rest your eyes."

Immediately, Damian hushed. He nodded when Twilight looked his way, and the two set about getting ready for bed. The pot on the fire was taken and its contents discarded far away from camp so as to not attract any scavengers. The fire remained lit; as Loid explained, now that there were two of them they could take turns keeping watch for added security. It also worked out since there was only one bed roll between the two of them and taking turns seemed the most logical conclusion, at least to Twilight (Damian just assumed he'd be relegated to the cold floor regardless).

"I'll take first watch," paladin informed squire. "That way if I hear you dreaming about my daughter I can poke you with my sword."

"...Noted," Damian replied flatly. Loid smirked smugly back, and Damian got the feeling he was only partly joking.

Against his better judgement, Damian climbed into bed. He rolled over to face away from Loid and the fire, and the moment he rested his head against the makeshift hay pillow he immediately became exhausted. It seemed his body needed time to catch up just like his mind did. His leg, though healed, suddenly throbbed like no tomorrow. It ached, and he imagined it was because Loid's magic only mended the injury; not necessarily the trauma. It would likely hurt even more tomorrow, though he did not dwell on it. Thoughts in general seemed to escape him at the moment. All he wanted to do now was close his eyes and rest. He blinked slowly. Once. Twice. Three times, and...they stayed closed. Just like that. A dead stop at the end of a marathon evening, likely as Loid had envisioned.

The man watched his new squire intently. Once his breathing became even, Loid let himself ease as well.

He didn't trust the boy, not entirely. He was quite familiar with the old adage _keep your friends close and your enemies closer_ , however even he didn't think there was much to worry about. True, the boy was Desmond's son, but from what he could gather just now they didn't seem on amicable terms. What's more, if Damian did have something to do with his wife and daughter's absence, there wouldn't really be a need for him to go looking for the latter. Loid was cautious, but only appropriately so. He wasn't paranoid at the boy's presence, mostly because he'd just cut him down if he tried anything.

With a tired sigh, Loid rested his back against the boulder and looked up at the stars above him. They swirled in a vast sea, and he tried to pick out the ones that reminded him of his family. A big, bright twinkling one; that was Anya. Farther to the left was a small, soft glowing one; that was his wife, Yor. And somewhere up there he imagined himself, although for the life of him he couldn't pick out a start that suited him. If there was a dull, minuscule star that reflected how he felt at the moment, then that one was probably him. Just a tiny speck in a sea of much more important faces.

"Wise, I know you've only got one eye. I'm not asking you to find them for me..." he muttered softly. "...Just please point me in the right direction."

Loid closed his eyes and listened to the gentle snaps of smoldering fire. Then, before he knew it, he was asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. Endo dropped the ball this week, so it's Crow's court now. Hopefully this combined with the other great fics today will help ease our collective disappointment. 
> 
> _Dedicated to hyp cuz I know she be thirsting for paladin!Loid, and Roski cuz his art just always make me wanna write!_

_A cacophony of sounds coalesced into the familiar background noise of Ostania's capital; wheels rattled as they rolled over cobblestone streets, children giggled as they played in places where they shouldn't, and perusers of various market stalls haggled feverishly to shave a few coins off despicably high prices. Witness to it all, Damian sat atop an empty barrel and rolled an only slightly ripe apple in his hand. Bruises marked parts of it, but he simply bit into the side without them. He stared quietly at the controlled chaos before him. Alone, though not really. He knew before even turning around that there was another person there with him, and wasn't surprised at all to find a teasing smile on said person's face as her arm wrapped around his shoulders. He glowered at the pink-haired girl beside him._

_"No, I did not steal this," Damian growled, already anticipating her inevitable accusation. "I asked for a freebie and the vendor tossed it to me."_

_"I can lend you some coin, Sy-on boy. You can always pay me back later..." the girl replied innocently, her tone betrayed only by a devilish sneer. "...With interest, of course."_

_Damian scoffed at the notion, which only earned him an amused giggle. "Anya, sometimes I wonder which one of us is **actually** the thief."_

_"You," Anya replied immediately. She poked a finger into Damian's cheek. "I'm just the girl nice enough to keep your nose clean out of the goodness of my own heart!"_

_"You're insane," the boy shot back and he pulled away from her. He wanted nothing more than for her to leave him alone and go bother someone else._

_He could never bring himself to utter those words, though. The same scene played out nearly every day, albeit with different words spoken. Anya would arrive. She'd bug him. He'd growl at her. She'd smile. They'd carry on together for a time, and almost always would fall into some stupid adventure together. All Damian wanted was coin to make it through the day, but Anya was more interested in helping kittens stuck in trees or finding a random stranger's lost possessions. And she'd always drag him along on her personal quests, because if he didn't go with her then there'd be hell to pay the following day. Anya would find him, saddle up with him as always, and never leave. She'd shadow him all day, and worst of all she'd be quiet the whole time. Silent. Judging._

_He prepared himself for her to announce what they'd be doing that day. She opened her mouth. He flinched. "No adventure today."_

_"...What?" Damian blinked. Caught off guard, he turned his head to face her. Their faces hovered inches from each other's. "Is this a joke?"_

_"Nope," Anya shook her head. She smiled at him, and the boy flinched; it seemed almost genuine. "I just want to spend the rest of my day with you."_

_"Sure, to go play hero or something!" Damian accused, not at all convinced. He narrowed his stare. "That's what we always do. What makes today any different?"_

_Anya's smile eased a degree; it didn't waver, though its brightness faltered slightly. "I might be going away soon...so I want to make as many memories with you as possible."_

_Damian paused. His eyes grew wide as he stared into the starlit green eyes that gazed back at him. He wanted to ask her what on earth she was talking about, but the words caught in his throat; before he could utter any sort of response, Anya turned heel and darted off down the alleyway. Damian gaped and swallowed his questions before quickly jumping off the barrel to race and catch up with her. The faint call of her giggle enticed him forward, though it sounded far less playful than usual. It grew more distant, and Damian knew that Anya was coaxing him forward. Making him chase her._

_For what reason, he did not know._

_By the time he realized it, however, it would already be too late._

**-A moment in time, date. 15th Crying Sun, 10 A.C (after curtain)-**

* * *

Sunshine and a sharp ache shook the boy awake.

Damian's eyes creaked open. The sight of a newly-lit sky greeted him. He curled up a bit, and the moment he did his face twisted. A groan escaped the boy as he pulled himself up and he reached for his leg; last night's musings over whether his healed wound would hurt were very much confirmed. He winced while rubbing it, half-expecting to be crippled despite Twilight's healing magic. Thankfully, a quick flex revealed to him that wouldn't be the case. With a relieved sigh, Damian pulled himself up on his feet. Muscles tight, he stretched and a yawn escaped him. Morning was upon them. Considering how close he came to nearly being skinned alive last night, he considered it a blessing to be able to see another one.

Thoughts ceased immediately, however, once Damian realized his sleep had gone uninterrupted. He blinked; wasn't Ser Forger supposed to switch with him last night? His heart skipped a beat, though it quickly stilled once more when he eyed his new master resting against the boulder where last he'd left him. The fire in front of him seemed to have died out only recently as a trail of smoke wafted into the air and filled the camp. Clearly, exhaustion affected even the strongest of warriors. Legend or not, Twilight was a man just like everyone else.

Damian looked around. He wasn't sure what to do next; perhaps try and bag them something to eat? Likely that wouldn't go over well, considering he was about as good a hunter as he was a thief (skilled enough to get by, though only just barely). Damian thought about it some more and settled on simply stoking the fire once more. Ser had mentioned he was a hunter, so he figured waiting for him to wake up before taking things into his own hands was the smartest option. Besides, they'd need a fire to cook breakfast, anyway.

The chore took some time to complete. Damian's first steps were wobbled as he stretched his mended leg, though eventually the pain went away for the most part. He shuffled towards the outskirts of the forest and gathered choice kindling. After searching for a while and amassing an armful of sticks, he made his way back to smoldering embers and started to build up the fire again. He positioned the twigs in a pyramid shape and stoked the flames underneath until it caught. Damian leaned back and admired his handiwork, while at the same time a stir came from across the way. He looked over and found blue eyes blinking awake. The squire grinned at his master, and offered him a good morning.

"Thoroughly rested, ser?" Damian asked genuinely, though a noticeable hint of smugness tinted his words.

Twilight's face twisted almost immediately. He narrowed his gaze. "Hells...did I seriously pass out during my shift?"

Damian nodded and the man growled in annoyance with himself. "In your defense ser, you were right to call it a night so early."

"A paladin never leaves his comrades defenseless, Damian," Loid responded with disdain towards himself. "No matter how tired he may be."

Damian nodded. He briefly thought to try and assuage his master's self-critical thoughts, though quickly shot it down. He realized it was more a lesson for him than anything else; besides, Twilight had already moved on to more important things. Damian scooted back as Ser Forger rose to his feet and did much the same as he had when he first awoke. Stretch. Growl. Scan their surroundings. Almost immediately, his thoughts went in the same direction as Damian's. The sound of his stomach growling confirmed as much to the newly titled squire.

"You can answer my questions over breakfast," Loid informed him, more a command than anything else. "I see you've got the fire going. Good job."

His first compliment. Damian straightened upon hearing it, and sat quietly on his knees as Loid walked around the other side of the boulder. To do what, exactly, master didn't say. Upon his return less than a minute later however, Damian quickly surmised he'd gone to water the grass; something he suddenly realized he needed to do himself. They switched off. Loid came back to the fire, and Damian went around the boulder. Another minute passed, another lizard leaked. By the time Damian turned back around the corner, Ser Forger was already breaking bread.

"That stew last night was the last of the meat," Loid revealed. "It's crumbs for us until we can replenish our stock. Here."

He held up a square of hardtack for his squire. Damian reached over to grab it before sitting down across from him. "Thank you, Ser."

Despite the lack of actual food, Loid had set the pot from last night back on the fire. Damian wondered what it was for, though he soon got his answer. Loid dumped the contents of his waterskin into it and sat back until it boiled. Then, after rummaging through his supply sack, pulled out a hollowed-out horn. Damian raised a brow as Loid opened it up and dumped a black powder into the boiling water. He then sat back and snapped off a piece of hardtack. He closed his eyes and focused on chewing; the crunch that biscuit gave off could wake the dead.

"Coffee," Loid said simply as if reading Damian's mind. The boy made an _ah_ face. "My wife's blend."

"She makes a good cup, ser?" Damian asked in the spirit of polite conversation. Loid's scoff made him blink, though.

"If your aim was to strip the grime off your armor, then, yes." Loid reached for a small metal mug to dip into the pot. "Otherwise, certainly not."

He reached in quickly so as to not burn himself with the steam. Brown liquid filled his cup, with little specks of black floating all inside it. Loid sat back and stared down at his coffee; a distant look came to his eyes and he paused before blowing on it. Damian kept to himself and munched on his hardtack. The two sat in silence for a moment, the far-off chirping of birds being the only noise in the clearing besides the steady crackle of fire. Then, after sitting on it for a minute, Loid finally deemed his beverage cool enough to drink. He sipped it. Immediately, he smirked.

"Just as crappy as always," he muttered aloud. "Been holding onto these grounds even before she went away."

Damian winced. He'd probably regret the next few words to come out of his mouth, but breakfast was dreadfully dry. "...Might I have a drink, master-?"

"-You may, after you start answering my questions," Loid glanced from the corner of his eye. He made it a point to take a long (painful) drink. "First, tell me how you know my daughter."

The boy paused. At his master's demand, the only response he could muster was a reluctant gulp of hardtack. The biscuit cut his throat on the way down, and he coughed a bit. Loid spared his squire no sympathy, however, and continued to eye him as he waited for an answer. Once Damian recovered, he glanced down at the fire in front of him and narrowed his own eyes in thought. Memories of a time not too long ago started to seep towards the surface, out through the cracks of a wall he'd erected to keep himself sane. Focused. Determined.

"I met Anya in Berlint almost a year ago," Damian recalled. He continued to stare down at the fire. "She caught me trying to steal coin from an old lady."

Loid's eyes narrowed judgingly, though he said nothing. "Somehow she knew what I was going to do before I even did anything, and she called me out in front of everyone."

"The whole square turned on me. I thought I was doomed to rot in a jail cell, but...she helped me escape. I don't know why," Damian shook his head. "I deserved to be caught."

"True," Loid agreed. Damian flinched, but soon eased when a flaggard of coffee was offered to him. He took it promptly and sipped it. Immediately the boy sputtered; his master grinned.

Damian'd had coffee before, and this was most certainly _not_ coffee. Poison, maybe, or perhaps some sort of elixir meant to clean ones insides after a terrible bout of constipation. Either way, Damian looked at his master and marveled at the fact that his wife hadn't killed him yet. Loid must have been thinking the same thing; he seemed impressed his squire was still functioning.

Damian coughed and shook his head. He forced whatever drops were left on his tongue down his gullet and reluctantly continued. "...After all that, she kept poking her nose in my business."

"Wherever I'd go, Anya would be there. Whenever I tried to loot a coinpurse off someone, I'd turn around and she'd be right there giving me the smuggest look I'd ever seen. I hated her."

Loid let an amused smirk cross his face. Damian missed it completely. "Eventually I gave up trying to steal. There was no point, not with her lording over me all the time. She won."

"After that, we talked. She visited me all the time, but I was never able to find her. Anya was like a spirit that would pop up and smile at me before disappearing again."

"One day, she seemed...off," Damian muttered. He paused for a moment before looking up at Loid. "Said she was leaving soon. Next thing I know, she's gone. Off on a wagon to gods-know-where."

Loid's eyes widened. He watched Damian as the boy summoned what remained of his strength and forced another drink of coffee down this throat before passing the flaggard back to his master. Loid took it from his hands and waited patiently for Damian to reveal more, but soon grew anxious when that seemed the last of the conversation. His face twisted.

"Well?" Loid asked pointedly. "Do you have any idea where this wagon was heading towards?"

Damian shook his head. "I don't. Anya wouldn't tell me. I think that was her way of trying to keep me safe."

"...Safe from what?" Loid's asked stiffly. He suddenly had a sinking feeling in his gut.

"Whoever chased her off that day," Damian muttered. "Several cloaked men. I don't know know who they were, but they were definitely after Anya."

Loid looked away. Damian watched his master's mouth curl into a dirty scowl as he stared into the fire. "I see."

"...I killed one of them, if it makes you feel any better," the squire admitted quietly. Loid's head snapped towards him. "A dagger to his throat. He went quick."

The man remained silent. He gazed at Damian and found the guilt obvious across his face. There was no pleasure in what he did. Loid shook his head. "It doesn't, but...thank you for protecting my daughter."

Damian nodded. He didn't look up at Loid, mostly because he didn't think he deserved his thanks in the first place; he didn't do anything to warrant it. He failed to keep Anya safe, and someone ended up dying because of it. He held no pity or sympathy for her pursuers, and yet the memory of him plunging his blade into the stranger's flesh was a haunting one. Maybe if he knew why they were chasing her, it wouldn't have affected him as much. Perhaps knowing their reason would give him cause enough to do what he did, but he didn't. What's more, he didn't hesitate.

Out from the shadow of the alleyway, he crept up behind the man and slit his throat.

His body slumped. Damian walked over it. He stared down with cold eyes, and disappeared just as quickly.

It was for Anya, but it wasn't. The annoying girl who made him change his ways, the person who served as his only friend and confidant despite knowing full well of his past...he dared not sully her good name with blood. Besides, at that point in time she likely had already climbed into the wagon; his job was to distract her pursuers, nothing more. He donned her cloak and made them chase him, thinking he was her. Anya was safe. That was the whole point of it all, and yet...he wanted her to stay safe, and that couldn't happen so long as the cloaked men still drew breath.

The rest was history. After having separated them, Damian took his chance with one of the men. He got lucky, though dared not try with the others. Even if he wanted to, his body wouldn't allow it. Once he was tucked safely away in the shadows, Damian stayed hidden and was forced to stare at the empty husk in front of him. He'd seen corpses before. It was nothing new, but it was; he created this one, though that fact wasn't the one that made his stomach churn. It had more to do with him feeling...nothing. No remorse, at least not at the time. He just stared, cold and unfeeling.

Were he near a mirror at that moment, Damian imagined he would have looked just like his father.

The thought made a dirty sneer cut across the boy's face as he sat there by the fire. In his own little world, Damian failed to notice Loid scanning him from afar. Paladin watched squire as the latter worked through his inner demons, and though he couldn't read Damian's mind he knew something was up. All the more reason why he leaned back and took over the conversation.

"You said you love my daughter," Loid spoke up. "I'm not sure how to feel about that, but...I'll at least let you in on some things."

Damian snapped to his senses quickly. At the promise of answers, his head shot up towards Loid. "Ser...?"

"Anya isn't mine by blood," the man revealed quite casually, which threw Damian for a loop. "My wife and I adopted her during the war when she was just a babe."

"She's a witch, and a talented one at that," he continued. "Able to read minds, see into the future, and more. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."

Silence. Wide-eyed, Damian stared at Loid and tried to process what he was saying. The straight face that looked back at him was certainly a convincing one, though the pill he was asking him to swallow was a large one; Anya was a witch...? A mind-reader? A...seer? The more Damian thought about it, the more he slowly started to piece bits and pieces together in his head. Times when things didn't make sense, times when Anya would do things that confounded and, at the same time, intrigued him. That moment in the square. How she knew she'd be going away soon.

Many times Anya would seemingly disappear in an instant, only to return to bug him sometime later. He always assumed she was just sneaky like that, but...was that really her using magic? It's not necessarily that the concept was outlandish; there were plenty of spellcasters in Ostania, but to think Anya was one the whole time and he never realized it...how could he have been so blind?

"A year ago, Yor and I sent her to live with an old friend in order to learn how to properly use magic," Loid revealed.

"In Berlint?" Damian asked absently, still sorting through things in his head. Ser Forger nodded.

"We'd keep in touch through sending spells at least once a week, but a couple months ago we lost contact with them."

Damian paused; that lined up with her getting on the wagon. "What about the person she was staying with? Your friend?"

"No word from him, either." Loid shook his head. "My wife became worried, went to go check on them, and...I haven't seen her since."

"You sent your wife, _on her own,_ to go check on your daughter-?" Damian caught himself. His face fell. "-I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that!"

Loid sighed. "Yor left without telling me. She's far from a defenseless maiden, though. You'll see what I mean when we finally meet up with her."

Damian nodded and briefly wondered what that was supposed to mean. Now all of a sudden he was quite curious was to what kind of woman would catch the eye of Twilight. If she were anything like Anya, then he could certainly understand what Ser Forger was talking about. The girl he knew was adventurous, hard-headed, and an A-plus personality through and through. If Loid's wife and daughter truly _were_ similar to one another, then Damian shuddered to think what an older version of Anya would even be like. Really, he'd rather choose not think about it.

"Speaking of, our destination is Nieselberg," Loid added on. 

"...Nieselberg?" Damian questioned. "Why there? Why not Berlint?"

"She's not in Berlint, you said so yourself." Loid replied simply. "Besides, I have my reasons."

"Fair enough..." Damian shifted uneasily in his spot. "...So are we just going to forget all about your friend, then?"

Loid chuckled. "I don't know how familiar you are with wizards, but they're a slippery bunch. You couldn't kill Frankie even if you wanted to."

"Only wizard I ever knew was Archmage Henderson, in my father's court," Damian mused lightly. His comment made Loid's ears perk. "He was a good man."

Things suddenly fell silent. Damian noticed his master's muteness almost immediately, though pretended not to. He bowed his head before glancing at the man so as to not make it obvious, and he found a look in Loid's eyes that was hard to pin down. A mixture of fondness and sadness suffused his distant stare, and the squire knew it was because he recognized that name; Archmage Henderson.

As the years went by, it became easier for Damian to forget that the old man was once a part of The Nine.

There was a reason Damian had grown up with stories of Twilight. Certainly none of them came from his father, or the rest of his court for that matter. They were all blindly loyal to Ostania, and by extension the throne of the archduke. The sole exception to that was Archmage Henderson, one of, if not _the_ greatest wizard on the continent. A humble, elegant man, he'd regale Damian with stories of the past from a book he'd written while traveling with The Nine; a rag-tag company comprised of individuals from both countries, brought together by their shared desire to end the war. The tales of their travels became legendary and their leader, Twilight, became the most famous of them all. When the war ended, Archmage Henderson went to serve the archduke. For what reason, no one could say.

"...Donovan's son," Loid spoke up suddenly. Damian blinked and refocused on his master. He found the man shaking his head. "Still can't quite believe it."

That was his father's name, Donovan. Damian had never heard anyone speak it so casually before, let alone out loud like that. It caught him off-guard...at first. The more he thought about it though, the more it made sense that Twilight of all people wouldn't care about such trivial things as courtly formalities. The title of archduke was simply that; a title. To him, Donovan Desmond was just an acquaintance from long ago. A man on the opposite side of the aisle whose ideals didn't line up with his own. At least, that's what Damian suspected, anyway.

He had neither the heart no opportunity to press the matter further. For a while, Loid was too caught up in reminiscing to pay him any mind. Even after, his abrupt shift to standing up came too quickly for Damian to process. Before the boy knew it, his master was already on his feet. Silently, he went over to the fire and kicked some dirt over it. Embers smothered, he then made his way over to the bundle of supplies placed haphazardly next to to his pristine-looking armor. Among the collection was a rough looking quiver with some arrows in it and a simple bow.

Damian hadn't really paid attention to the assortment. It was substantial, and briefly Damian wondered how Ser Forger carried everything without any horse to speak of. His thoughts were interrupted, however, as his master grabbed the gear and made his way back. He fully expected Twilight to swing the quiver over his shoulder, but was instead surprised to see him holding the bow out in front of him.

"Well, now that the two of us are all caught up, it's time to fell some game," Loid revealed. "We'll smoke and salt the meat before heading out."

A sinking feeling washed over Damian's stomach. He eyed the bow wearily. "Understood. But, uh...ser-?"

"-This will be your second second lesson...or, third, I guess," Loid interrupted with a smirk. "Today you're going to learn how to hunt."

Damian flinched. "But I already know how to hunt...!" A partial lie; as it was mentioned earlier, he knew...though just barely.

"Correction. You're going to learn how to hunt _well,_ " Ser Forger clarified. "Before you can be a true squire, you must learn the basics first."

Damian was given no pity. He cringed as Loid's hunting gear fell into his outstretched hands, the magnitude of what his master was implying being enough to make the boy feel sick. It wasn't necessarily that he didn't want to go hunting with Ser Forger; the prospect in itself was extremely exciting, although the thought of screwing up royally and embarrassing himself in front of the legendary paladin was enough to kill any eagerness in him almost immediately. Still, he held his tongue and followed Loid as the latter headed off towards the woad.

At least he had a modicum of experience with a bow to draw on.

Squires were, traditionally, the second step to becoming either a paladin or knight; regardless of whether said individual was from Ostania or Westalis, the hierarchy remained the same. When a noble-born child reached the age of seven, they could be taken into court and made a page. For seven years they would serve the court and learn the basics, as Ser Forger described; riding, hunting, strategy, etc. At fourteen they'd be taken under the tutelage of a master, and after another seven years of learning advanced combat and other skills they would be fully knighted. _Usually._

Damian's situation was far outside the norm, however. For multiple reasons.

The biggest one was, of course, that he'd never been a true page to begin with. Ser Forger probably knew that full well, though Damian's unique circumstances circumvented that prerequisite. He was the archduke's son; as noble as a noble-born could get. Despite not being a page in name, as far was Twilight knew, he'd been raised with all the same skills one would expect from a page. It was an assumption that he hoped his new master would keep, though Damian wasn't entirely surprised when Loid took the wind out of his sails yet again.

As they started to make their way past the trees, Ser Forger looked back. "Been meaning to ask, but...I take it you're estranged from your father?"

"...Yes, Ser Forger," Damian replied back monotonously. The tiniest hint of a sigh escaped him. "I've lived on the streets since I was ten."

"Mm." Loid's reply was short, though not from lack of sympathy. He frowned before turning his attention back in front of him.

Though the details were hazy, Damian supposed the only real important fact was that his father had abandoned him. Barely old enough to hold a sword, let alone provide for himself once he was cut off, Damian fell victim to the cruel life of Ostanian nobility. He scowled at the thought; had he been born first instead of his older brother, father would have had no choice but to accept him. Regardless of whatever loathing the man held for him, being first born would have meant there was no choice but to suffer his existence. He would have been the future archduke.

But fate was cruel, if not fair. Demetrius was heir, not him, and Damian could not fault his brother for that. In truth, he held no want for the crown; the stupid thing carried with it so much responsibility it made his head spin just thinking about it, but at least if he were heir father would have kept him around. If he were born first, they could all stay together as a family. Demetrius wouldn't have been cast out. Demetrius was smart, composed, and an excellent swordsman. The only reason Damian was ever made to leave in the first place was because...

"...According to my father, I was a disgrace to the name Desmond," he recounted bitterly. Light started to fade as they went deeper into the forest.

"Did he ever say why?" Loid inquired quietly. He had many questions, though they still had a job to do. Their voices needed to be hushed so as to not spook the wildlife.

"Sloppy swordsmanship. Shameful riding skills. Crappy at chess. You name it." Damian's fingers curled around his master's bow. "Nothing I ever did was good enough for him."

"A bit harsh for a boy that young." Loid kept his eyes peeled in search of game, a job made more difficult due to the fine, early-morning mist. "Tell me, what kind of person is your father?"

Damian thought for a moment. "Driven. Single-minded. Always striving for perfection. He expects those around him to operate at his level and rages when they fail to meet his expectations."

Air escaped from the tip of Loid's tongue. Damian looked up from behind to find the man laughing bitterly. "Funny, I always assumed the archduke to be an intelligent man."

"He is intelligent," Damian replied without missing a beat. No part of him held any fondness for his father, yet it surprised him how quickly he jumped to his defense.

"Nobody's perfect. I would expect his highness to know that simple fact." Loid shook his head. "It's in overcoming our faults that makes us stronger, Damian. Never forget that."

Damian grew silent. Good for the hunt, though Loid failed to see it that way. He glanced back and found a distant gaze in the boy's face, and he knew his words had struck a chord. The boy's business was his own, though Loid took his new position as master seriously. To have a squire that was inexperienced simply wouldn't do, though to have said squire dwell on long-standing demons was even more unacceptable. It was at times like then when Loid wished his wife were there with him; she was always one for a softer touch, something Damian needed desperately.

Luckily enough for the boy though, playing papa all those years had taught Loid a thing or two about cheering children up.

His daughter was, without mincing words, the future ruler of the world. She carried herself as such and, despite her happy, go-lucky nature, the girl was downright frightening when she was angry (much like her mother). Such a headstrong young woman was hardly ever down...though when she _was_ down, her depression and apathy were certainly more severe than the norm. Most who knew the their family would have assumed Yor to be the one to calm her down, though they would have been wrong; Anya's papa was usually the one to cheer her up when she was feeling low.

Ironically, he'd do so in much the same way he was currently doing with Damian; with a hushed trek through the forest and a bow and quiver at the ready. She was a daddy's girl, always had been, and loved to follow Loid into the woods when she was younger. All the things he learned then in allowing her to shadow him, he applied to Damian. A soft voice, a firm gaze, and an air of confidence that came from years of experience. All good things to be exposed to, though what Anya really wanted (and what Damian would want as well) was to join the hunt. Get dirty. Participate.

It was a good thing then that he already the bow in his hands. Damian fingered the string nervously as he skulked beside Loid. Despite whatever apprehensions he may have had, the boy listened earnestly to his master as the paladin quietly shared his wisdom; there were plenty of deer in the forest, but the focus should always be on the does. Where there were females, a stag was sure to be somewhere nearby. The best place to look were in more open clearings, much like the one they made camp in. It was essential to not leave yourself exposed, however, so laying low was key.

Water. Sun. Expanse. The hallmarks of berry bushes, and likewise deer. After an extended survey of their immediate area, Loid and Damian found a suitable location. The edged along quiet at the border of the clearing, making very careful not step on loose branches or twigs. Their eyes zeroed in on a small herd of deer. Several fawns and their mothers grazed absently in the sparse grass. At first there was no sign of any stags, though Ser Forger was seemed undeterred. Damian followed in his footsteps as they tip-toed ever closer. So close, he feared, they would spook them.

"There," Loid instructed, almost inaudibly. He pointed to a spot that Damian hadn't thought to look, and as he did a large buck poked its head out from the trees.

About thirty yards out. Their quarry was tucked behind trees, and Damian thought it far beyond their reach. Loid continued on, however, and Damian hesitated before following. He made sure to mimic his master's every move; he'd said before he was a hunter, only now the squire truly believed it. He made not a sound as they got well within an easy kill range. Downwind, covered by the sound of nearby water, there wasn't a better shot to be had in all of Ostania. Loid picked a spot and crouched down. Damian came down next to him and readied his bow. He shuddered.

"Aim for the lungs." It was a cool command. Vaguely, Loid sounded as if he were ordering one of his old soldiers. "On your exhale, let loose."

Damian nodded. He readied his bow and knocked an arrow. Right away he held his breath and pulled the string back. Loid stopped him.

"Line up your shot first," the man eased. He gave his squire a reassuring nod. "Always remember to breathe, both while hunting and in battle."

The boy looked to his master and nodded again; this time, he took his words to heart. He did his best to slow his rapidly beating heart, to middling results. All he could do was trust in Loid's advice and his own instincts. With his dominate side he eyed the nearby stag and, with a sharp breath, he pulled the bowstring taught. It shook in his hands a bit, the weight of the weapon unfamiliar to his unused muscles. Again he steadied himself and, when his pulse came down low enough, he exhaled. Once the last ounce of air escaped him, he made a prayer to Wise and let loose.

A whistle, followed by the piteous grunt of a wounded creature.

Damian froze. His arms fell before him as he stared wide-eyed at the sudden retreat of an entire herd of deer. They all scattered, including the stag that had just suffered an arrow straight through its rib cage. In his addled state, Damian thought for a moment he'd messed up; the beast was still on its feet and retreating, so maybe he had missed? The sudden jolt he felt at Ser Forger's hands, however, made the squire realize his fears were unfounded. He looked over as Loid shook him, a beaming grin on the man's face as he patted him on the back.

"Excellent shot, Damian!" his master congratulated him. "Right on target! We'll follow the blood trail til the beast tires."

At a loss for words, all Damian could manage was a grin of his own. It creaked across his face; slowly at first, then by the time the two of them made their way over to pick up the trail his smile went clear from one ear to the other. Foamy splotches of blood dotted the ground, and it didn't take an experienced hunter to figure out which direction the stag went. With no need to hide their presence, theirs was a much more casual walk through the woods this time. It didn't take them long to track their quarry down, either. Before long, they arrived at the body of a freshly-slain deer.

It was a sizeable beast, with six points on its head and a profile several times larger than the rest of its herd. "A fine first kill, my squire."

"Th-thank you, Ser Forger." Damian fought to hide his obvious exuberance, the prospect of which seemed nigh impossible.

"We'll skin and quarter him here," Loid informed him. "Go back to camp and fetch a bolt of cloth from my bag. We'll wrap the meat up in it."

Damian stood straighter and nodded quickly. He immediately turned heel and started off towards camp. Behind him, Ser Forger pulled out a knife from his belt and went straight to work. The sound and smell of him slicing open a fresh carcass made Damian slightly queasy, though such feelings were quickly overshadowed by better thoughts. As he marched away, Damian felt like, for the first time, he had accomplished something. It felt good to be able to finally say that; he couldn't remember the last time he felt proud of himself for something.

The sight of his master's grin and an honest commendation.

It reminded him so much of Anya, and Damian couldn't help but to smile as he walked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple notes moving forward. I changed some minor things in the first couple chapters; Damian was 1 when the war started, not a newborn, so I fixed that typo. I also changed Loid and Yor to having sent Anya away a year ago, and Damian having known her since she first arrived in Berlint. It doesn't really affect the plot, but just thought I'd point it out regardless. Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter, cuz I ended up having to split it into two 0_o

_"As the four-year long war between Westalis and Ostania reached its peak, both kingdoms rallied their forces and made one final stand at the Battle of Eden._

_Heroes on both sides of the border readied themselves for what was sure to be their finest hour. Unity Knight. Paladin. Ostanian. Westalin. Regardless of whichever sovereign they pledged fealty to, their blood ran red all the same. For an entire week, both kingdoms swelled their ranks along the winding border that separated the two countries. By the end of the sixth day, the combined forces of both nations became the single largest gathering of soldiers ever amassed on the continent. Calvary. Mages. Ballistae. War machines. Squires. Pages. Old men. Young men. Children. Any male who could carry a weapon. Both countries gave everything they had to see the other obliterated off the face of the earth and were it not for the efforts of a handful of brave souls, such a fate would surely have befallen them both._

_When the war horns rang out and the armies made their charge, none could see them._

_A group of figures stood together in the middle of the battlefield. Leading them, a paladin of Wise._

_As millions of men closed in all around them, the motley crew made their final stand; three clerics prayed for protection, two wizards summoned wind to slow the armies' advance, a woman called on her god for ice to aid them, and a man stood at the ready to shield them all from harm. Their long journey had led them there to that fateful time and place. On their backs they carried the fate of a continent, along with the hopes and dreams of a future without bloodshed._ _The paladin gave himself to his comrades, and with every last ounce of conviction he shouted to the heavens for a miracle._

_Twilight implored Wise to save every soul in Westalis and Ostania, and as he did someone else's fingers curled in his._

_The woman who'd set him on his path in the very beginning; she was there with him till the bitter end. As the heavens remained silent and Twilight faltered, he glanced at his side and found red eyes staring back at him. Faith. Determination. The things he needed right then and there, his bride offered him. Her hand squeezed his, and he could feel her strength become his own. Twilight pulled her in close and, as the armies of two kingdoms nearly collided, he gave his final plea. He threw his head back. He closed his eyes. Every breath. Every wish. He screamed it so the entire world could hear.  
_

_'Oh Great Owl, in the name of salvation, please open your eye and spare us!'_

_His voice carried. Over war. Over armies. Up to the sky, and once it broke through the clouds high above there came a rumble. The earth shuddered, and at its swaying the forces from both kingdoms halted. Every person, every soul, including Twilight and his band, suddenly looked up as a dark shadow cast upon them. They stopped. They stared. Not a breath was shared among any of them. Not at the sight of what was soon to befall them. There was collective silence...at first. Then, when reality came hurtling towards them, everyone suddenly came to the exact same realization._

_Run, as fast and far away as you can._ _Run, lest you answer the Iron Curtain's call."_

**-Excerpt from _"Twilight and the Band of Nine,"_ a collection of memoirs penned by the Archmage, Henderson-**

* * *

Exhausted grunts were muffled by the babbling of a nearby brook, accentuated by the thuds of wood smacking against wood.

The sun hung low in the sky, its position revealing the time as not quite morning but also too early to be noon. Even so, the heat was already falling down in waves on the meadow; sweat beaded heavy on the brows of two men as their eyes focused intently on one another. The fairer head of the two, a tall man steeped in confidence, bore down on his lesser. Brow eyes narrowed up at him, and they gave their owner's intentions away. He was surprised when the tall man played him like a fiddle, deftly dodging his incoming thrust and sidestepping to throw him off balance. Damian had no chance.

"What did I say?" Loid chided as he watched his squire trip over himself.

Damian stopped just shy of falling face-first onto the ground. He hesitated before looking up. "Remember your breathing, and always keep your eye one your opponent."

Loid nodded. "If you're always looking where you're going instead of looking at me, I'll always be able to read you. The point of this is to train until your movements become automatic, so you can focus all your attention on the person in front of you."

"Yes, Ser Forger," Damian shook his head in acknowledgement. He straightened, and the wooden sword in his hand came up once more. Damian wiped the sweat from his upper lip, and Loid did the same. They readied themselves.

Master and apprentice went back to work, and their shouts soon filled the area once more.

Near where they sparred, smoke from a campfire rose high into the air. Surrounding it were all the supplies one would expect from two traveling men, though if one were to pass through the narrow road that ran adjacent to their camp they'd likely wonder as to how such things could have been carried without a horse; a brand new-looking tent, laundry hung up to dry, a fine set of armor that must have weighed close to forty pounds, and a hefty pot boiling with the fruits of the morning's catch. All of it seeming too cumbersome for the average person to carry.

Were that same person to take a closer look however, they may notice that the two men were far from average. Perhaps they may have continued to assume the same of Damian, but Loid was another matter entirely. He dressed normally; the worn leather trappings of a hunter that many who shared his simple profession wore, with boots scuffed across rocks and one glove that was significantly thicker than the other. However, the way he moved and handled the wooden sword in his hands was far removed from how an average person would behave.

He was learned. It showed through clear in his face as Damian came towards him. The lad hoped to gain ground through force, though Loid's tiny hint of a smirk made it clear that wouldn't be happening. With every forward motion, with every flick of a wrist that Damian was sure would catch his superior off-guard, Loid was several steps ahead. He would pull away at the last second as if made of air, and that's all his squire's practice blade would ever taste. At a certain point it stopped being Damian's aim to defeat his paladin master, and it instead became simply trying to touch him.

Forward step. Dodge to the left. Use the momentum to spin around. Cringe as Loid parried him.

Despite only having been traveling with Loid for close to a week, Damian felt it expected of him to best the man in mock combat. Of course that's not how things worked. Of course he knew how ludicrous that assumption was considering he'd only just graduated to sparring several days prior, while conversely Loid had been handling a sword since he was half of Damian's age. Never mind the fact that he had come fresh off the heels of retirement; even after not having seen true combat in a very long time, Twilight of Wise was not to be underestimated. Ever.

Damian had to focus. He was being childish. Victory wasn't an option. Simply "wounding" Loid should be his goal. He dodged a halfhearted sideswipe from his master and took the brief second of reprieve to steady himself. The boy looked up at his master and found two patient eyes staring down at him. Damian took a deep breath and strengthened his grip. Both hands on the hilt, he summoned forth the modicum of knowledge Loid had imparted him with over the course of seven days and took his shot. He started walking forward. Loid waited for him.

Breathing. His master hounded him about that every day, and for once Damian listened. His breath became steady as he walked, and his eyes never broke away from Loid's. For once he looked serene, in-control, and for the briefest of seconds he seemed to channel his master's calm persona. It was almost off-putting: surely Loid himself wasn't expecting it, though he seemed impressed all the same. That hint of a smirk grew just a bit bigger, yet said nothing of the display. Loid simply continued to wait with sword at the ready. It was Damian's court now.

Squire came to master. At his doorstep, the boy finally made his move. He brought the faux sword high above him, readying for a basic downward swing. Of course Loid went to dodge it, and he did so easily, but Damian had something else in store for him. At the end of his motion, the boy sidestepped; in the same direction as his master, the two came face-to-face as Damian used the momentum to thrust the sword forward. Before he knew it, he felt resistance. His eyes boggled. Loid's smirk erupted into a full-blown smile as the dull sting of a wooden sword slammed into his stomach.

Both men paused. Damian stared down at the weapon in his hands; he'd connected. Really? That worked? He blinked and looked up, finding Loid there grinning down at him. At a loss for words, Damian stood there frozen as Loid pulled himself off the blade. At first, elation; he had actually landed a blow on Twilight of Wise! Before he knew it though, a hand came up to ruffle his hair. A chuckle accompanied it, followed by Loid's sword as it was tossed unceremoniously to the floor. It was at that point Damian took the hint. His excitement was still there, though a bit dulled.

He understood the situation for what it truly was; like a lion playing with his cub, Loid had purposefully taken the blow.

Well...at least he'd had enough sense to take his shot? Damian would have to settle for that much, though the prospect left a somewhat bitter taste in the boy's mouth. He couldn't help but to sigh as Loid continued chuckling. The man thanked his squire for a sporting spar and complimented him on his win, though Damian suspected the latter was merely for his own amusement. Still licking his wounds, the boy reluctantly followed his master back towards camp. A stomach's growl could be heard on the way, and the puzzle pieces all came together to paint the whole picture.

It was lunch time, and Loid was hungry.

To be fair, so too was Damian, but...

He sighed again; whatever. It was best to take any victory he could over Loid, considering a fair win against him was completely outside the realm of his capabilities. Besides, he was tired. A long bout of training had left them both winded and starving, so for now Damian would bite both his tongue and morning brunch. Both men came upon the fire eagerly. Before Damian knew it, he was already being handed a bowl of soup. Chunks of vegetables floated in it and the dead eyes of a fish stared up at him from the broth. He took his seat across from Loid.

Master reached over for his bundle of supplies and fished out a water skin. He popped off the cork. "Fancy a stiff drink? I promise it's nowhere near as potent as what I doused my sword with the other day."

Damian's eyes grew wide at the notion. He shook his head. "I-I'd love to, but...I'm only sixteen, ser!"

"Fair point, although you'd might as well partake before becoming a full paladin," Loid countered lightly. "After that, there's no real point."

Damian raised a brow. "Is it some kind of rule that paladins can't drink?"

"A curse more like it," Loid shrugged. "A paladin's god protects him from all manner of disease and poison, alcohol included."

"Really?" the squire blinked. He pondered for a moment. "Wait, so...why do you carry booze then?"

"Cleaner than water," Loid replied matter-of-factly. He smiled. "Also I can still taste it, at least."

Loid threw his head back and took of a swig out of his water skin. He pulled away from it and sighed as the fire water burned his throat, and he soon offered his squire a drink as well. The offer was genuine, and Damian only hesitated for a moment before accepting. He wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth and he wasn't a stranger to alcohol, though to say he was accustomed to its ill effects would have been an overstatement. A sip here or there is all he'd ever tasted. Still, the thought of refusing something from Twilight was a ghastly one.

He stared at the water skin before throwing his head back.

Immediately regret filled his gullet as he pulled away and choked on stiff wine.

"Atta boy," Loid commended as Damian returned the container to him. He chuckled.

Realizing himself to be Loid's entertainment yet again, the boy deflated. He sighed grumpily before digging into his soup. Damian fell silent after that, as did Loid, and the pair enjoyed a brief respite after a long morning of work. Fishing. Gathering vegetables. Sparring. It was all quite taxing, and the moment it hit Damian he felt the exhaustion kick in. Soup was devoured greedily to quell the moaning of stomachs, and it didn't take long for both Loid and Damian to empty their bowls. Spoons fell, as did their guards, and finally the two of them relaxed.

Loid leaned back and rested against his supply bag. A satisfied grunt escaped him as his head rolled to the side, and he watched the brook water travel gently alongside the bumpy road they made camp by. Damian did much the same; he bundled up his own supplies and rolled them into a makeshift backrest, though remained sitting upright for the most part. Though tired, he was still very much focused on his master. Damian eyed Loid from across the fire and couldn't help but recall the same scenario from just a week prior. Back when they'd first met.

The situation was a bit different now, however. Where once there was suspicion and hesitation, trust and a small amount of understanding had filled in to replace it. At least that's what Damian liked to think, anyway. Loid gave no indication otherwise, and he liked to think his master was a bit more open than when they first met. At the very least, he was much more willing to laugh at his expense. To be the butt of several jokes...well, such was the life of a squire, Damian supposed. The thought was sobering, but he'd suck it up for Anya's sake.

Besides, it was a two-way street. With more familiarity between him and Loid, Damian was allowed to be more brazen with his questions. He would have never dreamed about asking Loid more than the most basic of questions upon their first meeting, but now that they'd been traveling together for a small amount of time Damian no longer found the notion inconceivable. In fact, he hardly cared at all.

"Master," he spoke up after a moment of silence. Loid made no motion, though Damian knew he could hear him all the same. "Can all paladins do what you did?"

The thought had taken root long ago, though only grew at Loid's mention earlier. It occurred to Damian that, despite traveling with a legendary paladin and having been dubbed said paladin's squire, he had no real knowledge about what exactly that all entailed. He'd heard the stories. He'd seen Loid use magic. He knew of the gods and their domains...but that was it. Ostanians did not worship the gods, they worshiped the Archduke. Paladins were enemies, and thus none were around to learn from. They were foreign, their powers strange.

Loid must have realized this, too. Damian watched his eyes twist from across the way. He lifted his head up. "I'm assuming you mean the Iron Curtain?"

Damian nodded; and everything else, too. The healing. The other things he'd seen his master do over the course of a week, like summon a doorway in the middle of nowhere and open it up to reveal an entire building on the other side. Such was how they transported all of their gear, and it was so off-putting the first time seeing it that Damian thought he must surely have been hallucinating. But to Loid it was nothing out of the ordinary, just like breathing air. Was that simply because he was Twilight of Wise, or was it because all paladins held similar abilities to him?

From his spot, Loid sighed. It wasn't an annoyed sort of gesture, but rather a sign that he was now being forced to confront something he likely wanted to avoid. Damian didn't back down, though. He continued to stare at his master as the latter sat up straight. He closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts, and quickly the air around him changed. His aura changed back to how he'd been when Damian first met him that fateful night seven days ago, the suffocating presence of a man who had ended the war ten years ago.

"A paladin's magic comes from their god," he began to explain. "I take it you know this much?"

Damian nodded. "Different gods give their followers different boons."

"I follow Wise," Loid reiterated. He reached behind him to grab something. "Order is his domain, and he seeks balance and righteousness in all things."

"Right, and as his paladin you must follow and uphold his ideals..." Damian trailed off. The extent of his knowledge ended there.

Loid retracted his hand to reveal a shiny glint. Out from Damian's sight he pulled his signature sword and held it straight up for the boy to see. "The gifts he affords are few and far between, and he is normally seen as the weakest of the gods."

Hung up on the sight of Loid's sword, it took a second for his master's words to sink in. Then, when they did, Damian raised a brow. "Uh... _weakest,_ master?"

The god that brought down the Iron Curtain was... _weak?_ Damian was no expert on the gods. He knew none of their intricacies or how any of them actually interacted with the mortal realm, but...ask any person on either side of the border and they'd likely all tell you the same thing; Great Owl Wise was the strongest of all the deities. How could he not be? No other god had brought down a literal mountain of iron before. No other god had ever answered his follower's call so ardently before. What...could be more powerful than a god who keeps the peace?

Damian's confusion was quite obvious. "I don't understand."

"Prayers are the source of a god's power," Loid clarified. "Tell me, Damian...who do you think prays to a god of order when all is well in the world?"

Damian stayed quiet. He gave it some genuine thought, yet he couldn't think of anything. Loid was clearly looking for an answer though, so that's what he gave him. "No one?"

Master nodded. "People become complacent. In times of peace, Wise slumbers. Most of the time he's an absent god. Mute to his followers and deaf to their requests."

"An absent god..." Damian repeated. A dark smirk etched across his face. He thought back to the Archduke, his father, and immediately let the thought float away for good.

"Fourteen years ago, Ostania sent an assassin to take Lady Sylvia's life," Loid recounted. "On that day, Wise awoke for the first time in a century. And as the keeper of his eye, it fell on me to carry out his will."

Damian listened intently. He knew bits and pieces, all secondhand information passed down to him by way of Archmage Henderson. The beginnings of the war fourteen years ago, all stemming from the failed assassination of Lady Sylvia at the hands of a devil named Thorn Princess. To this day, such a character was still used against misbehaving Ostanian children before bed; do as you're told or the Thorn Princess will skewer you in your sleep. Were it not for Twilight of Wise intervening, the head of Westalis' church and state would surely have been killed that fateful night.

That much he knew, yet it was that other thing his master had said that peaked Damian's interest; _as the keeper of his eye._ Who's eye? The Owl's? Again, Loid seemed several steps ahead of him. Still holding onto his sword, he flipped the weapon in his hands and held onto the blade. Carefully, he reached across over the fire and held the hilt out for Damian to take. The boy hesitated briefly before eagerly reaching out to accept it. His eyes grew wide as he pulled back and felt the full weight of Loid's sword for the first time in his hands. It felt light as a feather, yet also heavy with years of history behind it.

Loid motioned to the guard and Damian inspected it more closely. Right away he found what he was looking for, a raised engraving directly in the center. A half-open eye, its vision skewed towards one direction yet still somehow looking right through him. Faintly, Damian mused it might start moving on its own. Was this the eye that Loid was referring to?

"When the Great Owl first spread his wings, he flew up to heaven," Loid spoke suddenly.

"Ser...?" Damian looked up to find his master's eyes closed as if deep in focus. He grew hushed.

"Under his order and guidance, the gods thrived. In his absence, however, the world below fell into chaos. Forests burned. Crops died. Babes, born still. Wise flew down to correct this, but the same fate then quickly befell the heavens."

Loid paused. Damian held the sword close to him, and his face twisted. "So how did he fix things?"

"In his wisdom, he made a concession. Wise would remain in the skies above, as the gods are want to bicker like children, while the mortals he'd entrust with one of his eyes. That way he'd always be able to watch over them and intervene should the need ever arise."

"So the eye of Wise is...this sword?" Damian asked earnestly. Loid shook his head and pointed at the blade in his hands.

"Oculus was given to the first paladin of Wise centuries ago, who then gave it to the paladin who succeeded him. That's how it's been since the founding of the order; one paladin, one sword, that's it." Loid straightened. "The sword isn't the eye, _I am._ The one who intervenes when the world needs him most."

Damian's eyes widened. Fingers curled tightly around the sword, Oculus, as if it might suddenly fly right out of his hands. Back towards its master, the eye of Wise.

"In the best of times we're both easily forgotten, as it should be," Loid added. Despite the heavy air around him, he offered his squire a reassuring smile. "Yet at the world's darkest hour, there's no god stronger than Wise."

Damian was frozen. Despite the soft expression on his master's face, the boy glanced between him and his sword and he couldn't help but to feel like he didn't belong among them. This sword...it was the weapon of a god, and yet there it was in his hands. He didn't feel worthy, though there was nothing that could compel him to release his grip on it. Loid made no attempt to retrieve his sword from him either, and in fact seemed content to let him continue holding it. He leaned back and fished out his water skin once more, opting to take another swig before motioning towards Damian.

"As my squire, you're destined to succeed me," he revealed with much amusement in his eyes. "Someday Oculus will be yours...assuming you choose to follow in my footsteps, of course."

Damian nearly swallowed his tongue. He gaped at the paragon sitting on the other side of the fire, and before he could even talk himself out of it he nodded fervently. A hero. A villain. Depending on who you asked from either country they might call him something different, but whatever label one wanted to apply to Twilight of Wise it made no difference to Damian. Labels meant nothing to him. Noble. Thief. Both were words others used to describe himself, but at the end of the day that's all they were; just words. To Damian, the only thing that really mattered were honest gestures. Actions.

Like saving millions of people. Men. Women. Children. From the pompous duke to the lowly pauper, Twilight had sacrificed for them all. Archduke and Lady be damned; _he_ deserved to rule, not them. Damian's eyes narrowed at the thought of knowing two people who'd allowed the war to happen sat comfortably on their thrones while others did the dirty work for them. Twilight should have been crowned king, and yet...that just wouldn't have suited him. His master's words echoed in his head, and Damian's stare quickly softened. He and Wise were both easily forgotten, as it should be.

When the fires died and canons were silenced, there was no fanfare or festivals. Twilight slipped away to live a peaceful life with his wife and daughter, away from all the talk and hero worship that was sure to follow. A true paladin, even in retirement. Humble. Just. And not only that, but it was now very clear to Damian where Anya had gotten her larger-than-life personality from. She was her father's daughter.

Damian smiled. He steeled himself at the sight of Oculus and looked up to meet Loid's gaze. "I would like nothing more, ser!"

Loid blinked. He seemed surprised by the boy's sudden fire, though returned his gesture all the same. "Then you'd best stay diligent in your training."

Loid raised his water skin, yet stopped just shy of drinking. He paused for a moment, then without warning tossed it over towards Damian. The boy scrambled at the last second to catch it, and it took every last ounce of grace to keep from letting Oculus fall to the floor like a cheap sword off the shelf. Loid leaned back as Damian quickly took the hint; squire raised the container to silently toast them both and once again threw his head back. The taste of bitter fermented grapes stained his tongue, yet the taste was a thousand times sweeter than before. Damian pulled away and exhaled.

"I won't let you and Anya down, master."

* * *

Muscles burned. Sweat clung to his shirt. Breath escaped him, but Damian didn't relent.

Another downward strike, much like the one he used against Loid earlier, only this one was aimed at nothing. He stepped with it, cutting the air for what felt like the thousandth time since his master had left an hour or two before. The stance was hammered into his body at that point; feet square with the shoulders, a defensive form that lent itself well to control. That's what Loid had wanted him to focus on before moving on to more advanced techniques. Control was important in battle, both of yourself and your opponent, and it would only come with hard work and dedication. Damian shouted above the brook as he dueled the phantom in front of him, while at the same time a steady count reverberated in his chest.

...One-thousand and one...One-thousand and two...One-thousand and three...

It was boring, but it wasn't. The same thing over and over again would weigh heavy on anyone, but he got through it by focusing on other things. Once the automation of the motion kicked in, that sought-after moment when his muscles finally remembered and allowed his mind to wander, Damian's head was filled with images. Faces of the people who mattered, like Anya, and of people who no longer did, like his brother and father. The silhouette of Oculus and of Twilight wielding it. The eyes of an owl staring at him from the heavens. Himself training. And more.

...One-thousand and four...One-thousand and five...One-thousand and six...

Master had left him to go scout ahead. Some things were just easier to do with only one person. That included hunting, something Loid had mentioned he'd take a crack at while on his own. He even took his bow with him, though he himself doubted there was anything worth nabbing in the sparse area they found themselves in. It was all the same to Damian, though. His job was to remain, continue his training and, perhaps most importantly, watch over camp. That included keeping an eye on Loid's armor and Oculus, two things that necessitated constant supervision.

...One-thousand and seven...One-thousand and eight...One-thousand and nine...

They were perched right where Loid had left them, by the tent he had bought from a traveling merchant several days back. Everything else was still out as well, even the fire from earlier though its embers had severely dimmed by that point. Damian eyed none of it, the bulk of his attention being elsewhere. He was alone in the meadow, anyway. There wasn't another soul for miles, which in itself seemed strange given their proximity to the dirt road nearby. One would have assumed there would be at least one or two travelers making their way down that path, and yet...

...One-thousand and ten...One-thousand and-

Damian paused. The thoughts running through his head ceased, and for the first time since he began training his sword stilled. There was a shift in the air, a feeling similar to the one he experienced right before he and Loid happened upon that buck a week prior. It was enough to make him refocus on the camp and for a brief second, he panicked. His eyes darted between everything; the tent, the fire, the bags of supplies, all of it. His master's equipment was still safe and sound, and Damian breathed a sigh of relief. Still a feeling nagged him, however.

He cast his eyes towards the brook and scanned the other side. Nothing, not even a bird. Damian then looked off towards the road, thinking he might see another body walking towards him. Sure enough he spotted something, although it wasn't a walking traveler. Instead, he found a cloud of dust being kicked up by the heavy profile of a best of burden. Soon the sounds of heavy hoof-beats accompanied it; the frantic trot of a horse, its owner gripping the reins as he leaned forward on the stirrups. Damian had barely any time to process what was going on before it all happened.

One second he was by himself, and the next he wasn't.

Horse and rider landed at his feet quite literally. Fate, cruel or otherwise, delivered them to him.

As they galloped by, the steed lost its footing. A panic erupted as the stranger went tumbling forward. So close to them he could practically smell their fear, Damian instinctively jumped back. He gave the pair a wide berth as they crashed, and kept his distance until both skidded to a stop on the side of the road. The horse immediately tried to get back up, though it whined in pain before stumbling back to the ground. The rider, a boy around Damian's age, remained on his stomach. He was alive, that much was apparent, but he made no attempt to get back up.

The cloud of dust hung over them and made it hard to see the road. Damian hesitated before jumping in; he had no idea who they were or why they were running, but his conscious was a powerful thing. It wasn't long before he willed himself to the stranger's side. He fell to his knees and gave the boy a once over. There seemed to be no broken bones. He asked him his name and got only a pained grunt in reply, and before he could ask again he stopped himself. The dust was starting to settle, and in its place returned that same feeling from before. Like a deer caught in someone's stare.

He heard voices.


End file.
